


★

by PsyenceFiction



Series: Original Stories [3]
Category: David Bowie (Musician)
Genre: BlackStar - Freeform, Fantasy, Gen, Lazarus - Freeform, Novel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-06
Updated: 2016-01-06
Packaged: 2018-05-12 02:10:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5649826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PsyenceFiction/pseuds/PsyenceFiction
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Venture into the unknown; the subconscious mind. Think. Imagine. Who is lurking in the shadows and to what purpose? Keep it rhetorical, ask this over and over. Create it, delve into the darker side and tear open the shadows, nothing is meant to be hidden. Hide and Seek? Maybe that’s what these footprints prefer. Focus. The Blackstar is about…</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	★

**Author's Note:**

  * For [InherentlyBowie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/InherentlyBowie/gifts).



> _After various request. Blackstar esque novel inspired by the video. Different writing style from other fictions so far..._

“Shhhhhhhh…”

  
“H-” 

  
“Shhhhhhhh….”

  
Pitch black. He opens his eyes. Pitch black. A hand grasps at his bare foot and drags him along. Grains of sand, lumps of rock, sleet grinding along his back the only sound echoing along and startling his sensitive ears. He struggles and feels the soft dirty hand cover his mouth again. Thud. His hand reaches out for something, anything, nails dragging at what feels a sandstone brick, a wall, the texture of brittle bone sharpening against ancient rock shocking him. He pats at the floor, the dragging begins again, faster, rushed. A breathless being, strong gripped, fit enough to drag his slumping weight along at such a rate. She’s in a rush, pants. There are brief moments where upon the movement stops entirely, she’s catching her breath, letting go, stumbling around, slaps of bare feet, the hand grasps at his foot again, they move along further. Every sound, an echo of it’s aftermath, it drags further, repeats, the area is eery, enclosed, walls, close together. He feels at each side and at the smoother, contrasting, marble like floor, the dust like grains covering it blackening his fingertips, getting under his nails. He tries to open his eyes again, nothing, he feels at his face. Nose, mouth, dry lips cracked and cursed, eyelids in tact, eyeballs flinching at his touch, he still cannot see. Is it that dark? 

  
“Hail!” A booming voice comes from ahead, he senses it, his perception is so and so with the lights so low, but it’s definitely ahead, dragging roughly along his eardrums, carrying on down the hallway-esque path he is dragged further and his foot is dropped again. Thud. “Ow!” He exclaims in pain, superficial but painful, the hard floor isn’t so welcoming to his exposed skin. 

  
“Of whom you bring?” The voice is softer this time, a male, deep toned, softly spoken, he possesses the ability to drop and raise his voice like a harnessed instrument, his tone is silky, yet his voice cracks slightly. A figure of power, he speaks with an elegance, but also an authority about him, to the anonymous face of the woman uncomfortably dragging him along and insisting silence. 

  
“Ahhrhghhh!” A scream comes from behind them, far away, it echoes towards them and crashes about the closed space, entering a larger room of modest size, small gasps and muttering voices come from inside. There’s still no light, not a peek of the place, he moves his pupils around, where is he? Going off only sound, feeling, smell, damp and musty, somewhere old, forbidden, maybe derelicted. 

  
“An Earthling.” The woman’s voice comes again, addressing the authorative male calmly, but it has a shrieking finish, she is intimidated by his presence. An Earthling? What kind of building is this really? Where on earth must he be for people to address him in such manner, an Earthling? Surely nothing supernatural.

  
“Arhghhhhhh!” Another scream, louder, vibrant in tone, a pitched scream, top of their lungs, flying down the hall again, colliding with the solitary walls, making the dust upon them shiver and jump. 

  
“Proceed.” The male almost whispers, more footsteps, a collection of so, he feels hands not so politely dig at his shoulders, his feet, another slightly more endearing, cup his frail haired head. He lifts from the ground by the strength of the multiple effort, a few grunts, he’s lighter than they expected. Gravity isn’t so kind to his ribcage, breaths are harsher, a pressure on his front like a tonne of bricks. 

  
Movement, shuffles of feet, he’s moved along through a wooden doorway, brushing the antique closure with his fingertips, a splinter catches between the first layer of his skin, a little crackle as what he assumes paint chips off at his pressured touch. Wedges with the unhealthy amount of dust and local clutter collecting under his curious nails digging at everything. Shuffle, suddenly he drops, about to scream when he lands not on the cold hard floor like before, a softer, mattress like material under him, breaking his fall, comforting him. 

  
“Leave.” The male grunts at the servants with mild disinterest about his tone, banishing them from the room at once and closing the door behind him as they pad along in an orderly line, scrambling into one another to follow his every whim. “Bring ration, and remedy.” He orders after them before the large clunky doors bang shut with force and a heavier footstep comes towards the ‘Earthling’ of the land. 

  
“Wh-wh..” He shakes his head and gulps, reaching out to touch at the scratchy yet soft material of the bed like resting place he was dropped, hearing the clutters and scampers about and frowning with discontent, why must everything be so dark. It isn’t until he feels a strong, warm breath on his throat that he jumps and pushes his hands forward, attempting to shove the authoritarian male back but just making him chuckle darkly, he doesn’t budge as he checks out the shivering man with delight, intrigue, disgust, he doesn’t know what to think of the creature. 

  
“Your name.” The male breathes against his face, up close, he can smell the stale breath of the foe lurking the darkness, clouding his senses, covering him in the putrid second hand exhales of the mysterious male. He coughs and waves at the male to retreat but he does not, unmoving, intrigued further by the foreign gestures of the squirming earthling. 

  
“Why?” He replies stubbornly, defiantly, this man isn’t planning on doing any unorthodox experiments on him, probing or anything. He spits the other man’s way and then he retreats and makes a curious sound, touching at the strange residue on his chin, he swipes at it with his fingertips and licks it, pouting with confusion at the lack of placing, no taste. 

  
“Water?” He sounds just as confused as he’s looking, puzzled, but also couraged by the other male’s defiance, he is not used to creatures attempting to intimidate him. Maybe if he could see, that’d change everything. “Hello, why.” He chants back, “You may call me Priest.” 

  
“I may or I will.” 

  
“You, may.” He repeats with growing determination to calm the man now, what has irritated this being? The hospitality here is luxurious, the place vast, his status higher than imaginable, who dare show a higher such disrespect. 

  
“Okay. Priest. I’m David.” He finally answers correctly and the man laughs softly and pats at the earthlings silvery hair with a delighted sound, he feels at the silky soft strands and makes David kick and protest, until he reaches a rather sensitive spot, his scalp, and he stops and sighs almost contentedly. 

  
“Your name is why.” Priest retorts with quick wit, thinking this earthling is trying to trick him. 

  
“No. It’s David. David Jones. Where am I. What is this place. Who are you all. Why am I here!” David exclaims, making the male jump in fright, jumping back from touching at the being’s hair to standing a metre back, holding his hands back. 

  
“David Jones.” Priest repeats blankly, “David. Jones.” He seems to be getting used to pronouncing such a lavish name, how does this Earthling pull off such elegant language with no second thought. His true language? This name is not from around, it’s an Earthling term and it’s preciously spoken. 

  
“Yes!” David grunts with irritation, trying to roll out of the bed, Priest stops him and holds him still. 

  
“Stop.” He knows a few words of Earthling, a thing or two that the pesky bard has taught him. Another earthling, but he can see. What is different about this one. Why are his seeing organs milky white. Is he tired?

  
“Answer me.” David breathes out angrily, patting at his surroundings again, trying to find Priest with difficulty. He steps forward and presents himself to David’s hands and almost screams when the earthling pulls him down. 

  
“Fucking tell me!” David shouts and grasp at whatever he can on the hidden Priest, why won’t he show his face. “Turn on the lights.” He demands, holding at Priest’s throat now with threat. 

  
“Lights? It is dawn.” Priest replies confusedly.

  
“Stop pulling my leg, turn the lights on.” David repeats with desperation, feeling at his face again, panting desperately, blinking, nothing. 

  
“Sol is rising.” Priest mutters, “No need for fire.” He answers but in foreign to David. 

  
“Sol? You mean, the sun… So… Why is everything so-so dark.” David asks after him, calming down, deteriorating in confidence as he feels at his eyelids, he opens his eyes again, nothing. 

  
“Your seeing organs are malfunctioning.” Priest inspects closer, bringing his fingers directly to David’s flinching eyelids and touching at his eyeballs. “You are possessed?” 

  
“No.” David frowns and snorts, “Are you mad?” 

  
“You are mad, Jones.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry anyone that is/has read this fiction, I'm really not sure whether I'm going to come back to this. I apologise in advance if it never updates.


End file.
